Insignificance
by sadistic dreamkiller
Summary: Nail polish to Itachi was just plain annoying. Konan, he didn't mind much.


ItachiKonan. Slight fluff, to take a break from the draining dark of Scorpio.

Why fluff? Because I CAN. Damn it.

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**Insignificance  
**Oneshot for you

_"We faded faster than the speed of light..."_

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Fifteen minutes ago he had been unceremoniously inducted into the organization. Fifteen minutes earlier he had gone from potential missing nin to being a member of one of the most hated groups in his village's history. Fifteen minutes earlier he could have gone back and changed his fate. Fifteen minutes earlier was long gone now. And in a month, he'd turn fifteen.

The ruby winked in the light that streamed in the window and he stared at it, the black character etched underneath that showed clearly through the transparent gem. It was all happening so fast. He had even yet to sleep, having been dragged by Madara right after the massacre to Hidden Rain to hand over to Pain like a trussed up, bloodied present.

There wasn't anything special in what happened. He was looked over, the Rin'negan omnipotently weighing on his being, searching, before the man with the orange hair and heavy piercings gestured for one of his subordinates to hand him a black and red cloak supposed to be the symbol of the movement of Akatsuki. That was it. Simple as that, his life was changed.

He was tired, bedraggled, cranky, had not yet taken a bath and had yet to mourn for those who he killed.

Yet he still found the strength to continue for a bit more without breaking down when the leader's partner, Konan, knocked on his door, took him by the hand and led him to his window, briskly instructing him to keep still as she took out a bottle of nail polish. His juvenile mind allowed him to deadpan mockingly, unnoticeable to her who wasn't familiar with his expressions, as she was blissfully unaware and had uncapped the bottle with a straight face.

He acknowledged that she was able to mimic a blank slate of a face with, _Not bad._

She was currently focused on painting his nails, already finished with his left hand, which he was blowing on and praying for it to dry quickly.

He was itching already, wanting to dreadfully scratch at his nape, back, arm, everywhere. He dared not to try and scratch again at somewhere with his left hand because earlier Konan had slapped his wrist, flashing an icy glare at him like he was a toddler caught grabbing cookies from the cookie jar and forcing him to rest his hand motionless on his thigh. He had returned her glare incredulously before she made a tch-ing sound and returned to what she was doing.

Since she wasn't looking, Itachi casually let his hand fall back to his thigh, then tried to inch his hand towards his knee where there was the absolutely horrendous itching of dried blood and sweat and the godawful feeling of being unable to scratch at it.

The Uchiha managed to move his fingers toward his prickling knee a half inch before the kunoichi's porcelain hand quickly shot forward and slapped the skin on the back of his hand raw. He hissed, glaring at her for the second time. Kami-sama, it wasn't even a few hours that they met and she was hitting him like crazy.

"Listen, you brat," she said, fixing her unwavering cold eyes on him, glossy lips thinning into a firm line. "I want you to keep still, okay? Keep that in your thick skull and let me finish."

He felt a tick developing under his right eye.

"This is stupid," he said, injecting as much spite as he could in his voice. He may be fourteen-and-eleven-twelfths-years-old but he didn't look like it. Heck, he didn't even sound like it, and he made sure that his voice went as deep and condescending as it goes with his current age. If he wasn't irritated before, he was now. "It's just nail polish."

Konan's gray irises narrowed dangerously at him. Oh, was she good. She could keep an emotionless mask but he knew she boiled inside because of those telltale eyes. He even thought she was pretty when he first saw her but he was now officially put off by her snarky attitude.

"It's not just nail polish," she muttered darkly, her hand tightening around his fingers.

He didn't care. He hated it. It felt weird on his hands. It felt like the tips of his fingers were constantly coated in something thick, something that reminded him of something he didn't want to remember. The heaviness, the stickiness reminded him of blood, the way it clung onto everything, staining, transforming, destroying.

"It's _stupid_," Itachi reiterated in a baritone while keeping his cool, his almost-fifteen-year-old mind wanting his way followed for just this once. "It's _useless_."

He knew when he pissed someone off. For someone whose apathy was commanded by genes, he had also been bestowed by the ability to sniff out impostors. Konan's eyes flashed like breaking ice, and he smirked.

"You don't know anything," she ground out, back straightening where she sat in front of him and giving him a smug look. "I'd be surprised that you don't use it, given how effeminate your appearance is."

He swallowed a sharp retort, instead settling for staring at her.

It was pointless, really, this argument. The could go on and on, insulting each other, when he wanted to rest, to just be left alone, and here she was nagging like his mother. It was just... shallow. It was only nail polish. She had a whole bustling town to run with their so called leader, and she was choosing to waste her time away and count the minutes on the clock.

And so he chose to be more mature.

"Why?" he asked, cocking an elegant brow in her direction. "You're losing yourself in such trivial things."

Her translucent gaze went out to the hidden village before the window as she cleanly tucked a lock of blue hair behind a white ear. She looked spiteful despite not showing any emotion. He could compare her to Fugaku. Forcing to show the world that they were unfeeling shinobi yet full of rabid emotions on the inside. Her chilly demeanor was merely a mask, that much he could tell.

"Trust me," she said carefully, voice now as calm as when she had beckoned to him earlier to following her to the window in the first place.

Her smokey eyes focused back to him, and she gave him a wan smile, taking back his hand into her soft palm, her well manicured nails the same shade of rich purple she was painting on his.

"Once you start this... job," she shrugged, "you'd want things to be normal."

Itachi remained quiet, watching how her pretty eyes had a faraway look in them as she resumed her petty obsession. He wondered if what she said was true, and for the remainder of the session played the part of the obedient boy and kept still until she finished. He was rewarded with another rare smile as she admired her handiwork, inspecting his nails and taking a deep breath of approval before leaving him be.

Little did he know, years later he lost himself the same way.

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**AN: **Softer, softer.


End file.
